


A Place To Sleep

by BurntOrange



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Time, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:24:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2349941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurntOrange/pseuds/BurntOrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With her entire family dead or off the map, Sansa remains a prisoner of the Lannisters with no need of guards or chains. She has no where to go and could not make it on her own. Traveling with King Joffrey's caravan, Sansa is unprotected by name, status or friends. She does what she must to protect herself, turning to the man who may have never saved her, but has also never hurt her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take Me Upstairs With You

“I need a place to sleep” he heard her voice at his elbow, her sweet, soft voice. “My Lord”, she added, lowering her voice as he turned his head to look at her. 

He had one foot on the stairway that led to the upper rooms of the inn. She had clearly tucked herself into a corner at the base of the stairs, a good hiding place. He had not seen her as he approached, but she showed herself to him now. 

“What are you talking about, Little Bird?” he spat back, quietly, but forcefully, one foot still on the stair. He looked her up and down as he waited for her response. It was late and the members of their caravan were moving around, finding places to settle for the night. Traveling with the King's Court required many people and the inns where they stayed were always crowded because of it. The King, his mother and a few other Lords, Ladies and valued Lannister servants took the rooms upstairs. Less important soldiers and servants looked for floor space in the common room and stables if they were not forced to camp outside with the rest of the cursed court. Sandor rarely spared a thought for them, however. As the King's trusted Dog, he typically got a room nearby when it could be spared, or his own tent out on the road. 

Sansa looked around nervously, “I need a place to sleep.” 

He stepped back off the stair so he could turn to face her properly. The shivering Stark girl had retained her beauty through the recent weeks of being dragged around by the Lannisters to serve their ends, however the changes were evident. Her dress was well made, but she did not wear it with the ornament she once had, and she seemed to have chosen her most functional garb. She had clearly taken the time to see to her hair and face, but it was done herself, a very simple knot, not the complex styles her handmaidens had done before. She made efforts to keep herself looking nice, but with less resources. 

None of this was information he had not already gathered from his study of her on the road. Her horse stayed near King Joffrey when they rode during the day. Mostly she was ignored by all, except the occasional remark from the Queen Regent, designed to embarrass the girl. Her absence would have been noted and quickly addressed, however, and there was no place for her to go, so Sansa dutifully stayed nearby, the loveliest prisoner anyone had ever seen. No longer Joffrey's betrothed, but still heir to Winterfell, Sansa was not valued, but useful, therefor lugged around wherever the Lannisters went. 

“I'm not here to answer to your every need, child. Explain yourself or let me find my rest.” His eyes continued to search her face, body and surroundings as he spoke, towering over her timid form. 

“They do not arrange a place for me to sleep.” she explained, looking down at the floor again. He stood so close, his boots were practically right under her. 

“Where did you sleep last night?” his raspy voice asked, curiosity getting the better of him. 

“I did not,” she admitted, “I hid myself where I hoped no one would see me, but stayed awake for fear they would.” Once she started talking it seemed to become easier for her to continue. “When we camped it was easier, I could find a dark area, something wooded, and bed down. Here there are so many people so close and the men know that I am unprotected. Joffrey does not care so long as they leave no marks on my face or arms. I need a place to sleep where I can be safe.” She finished, looking up at his face at last. 

He raised an eyebrow as he regarded her. “Why are you making this my fucking problem?” He wanted to know what she would say, how she would handle it. 

“I will repay you.” Her answer surprised him into a deep chuckle. 

“With what money? The Lannisters keep me paid well enough.” He responded gruffly, but her brow furrowed and she pressed on. “I will repay you with my company.” She faltered on her next line, “I will do what would please you.” 

His unburned eyebrow went up once again. Though she was cryptic, he knew what she meant. “And how will that guard your virtue any better?” he challenged, a deep desire now flooding his veins though he cautioned himself to think clearly. 

“It is my safety I wish to guard, not my virtue. You won't hurt me.” She said the magic words, the ones she had said before which caused him to laugh darkly again. It was his turn to look away this time, but he avoided her intense gaze by glancing up the stairway. “No, Little Bird. I won't hurt you.” 

He fought with himself for only a moment before stepping aside to allow her to proceed him up the stairs. He knew he did not deserve such beautiful things, but the world was not fair and who was he to fight that.

She lifted her skirts and began the climb. He glanced at her dainty little ankles, imagining how dainty the rest of her body was. He admittedly allowed his eyes to wander as she climbed before him. She paused when she reached the top so that he could indicate his door. When they arrived he pushed it open and with only a brief glance to see if anyone observed them, she walked in under his arm.


	2. Finding Rest

Sansa walked to the middle of the sparsely furnished room before turning back to look at Sandor standing at the door. She saw him glance about the empty hallway, as she had, before he shut and locked the door and turned to look at her. There was just one oil lamp burning on a little table beside the bed and its light was unsteady enough that Sansa hoped it hid her apprehension. Though she had made this decision very deliberately, it was still a decision arrived at through fear and so not one she could expect to find comfort in. 

Sandor stood looking at her for a moment after he closed the door before he moved slowly to sit at the edge of the bed and begin taking of his boots. The Little Bird followed his lead, without saying a word, and removed her cloak, laying it across the room's single chair, before also taking a seat to remove her riding boots. 

They both paused a moment. Sandor stood and moved towards her, it only took a few steps, and she stood as well looking into his face with the polite bravery he had witnessed at the bottom of the staircase. Again he paused a moment and then dove in, uncomfortable with the stillness of the dance they danced. They had made a bargain of sorts and he meant to capitalize on it, there was no doubt about that. Gently, but firmly he took a hold of her hips and pushed her back and to the side so that her back was against the wall and the chair to her left side. 

The wall behind her was hard and cold pressing on her back. His body felt equally firm, but not as unyielding and he gave off a restless heat that was oddly comforting to Sansa, her own face feeling as warm as it ever had. She was slightly shocked, though not truly surprised to find she could already feel signs of his arousal against her stomach as his hands moved slowly up and down her torso, his heavy breath on the top of her head. 

She did not know what to do with her arms, which currently rested palms flat on this chest. His shirt was slightly open at the top, right at her eye level and the chest hair was disrupted in one area by a scar running below his collar bone. Sansa found her Stark courage and gently kissed his skin before glancing up at his face to gauge the situation. 

Sandor's hands came to rest right above her natural waist, thumbs right below her bosom. He looked down at her after she kissed him and then removed one hand to stroke her cheek. His hand then slid down, circling her neck for a long moment before resting on her shoulder, his thumb skimming the top of her breast. 

They broke eye contact only when Sandor took a step backwards to remove his shirt. Sansa took this opportunity to begin unlacing her dress. She had prepared herself for this and found that she was not so nervous as she had thought. He was being direct as she anticipated, something she appreciated about him, but not rough, almost methodical. 

She looked up from her work to find him staring at her, his shirt hanging at his side in one hand. His intense gaze reminded her of who she had put herself at the mercy of. The balance of power could never be anything but in his favor. But his gaze, his lust filled gaze, terrified and excited Sansa beyond any feeling she had had yet that evening. 

She had paused to watch him watching her, but quickly returned to her work when he nodded for her to do so. She glanced up at him when he tossed his shirt on the chair beside her and stepped forward, hands returning to her body to help her undress. Together they quickly had the simple gown pooling around her ankles, her breasts now exposed. His hands were on them before she had time to feel embarrassed and she felt her back press against the cold wall once again as he leaned into her, kissing her neck now as his warm hands cupped her small, pert breasts. 

Sansa found her breath growing erratic, subject to a quick inhale each time his thumbs brushed her nipples. The heat he was building inside her was exquisite, and she had underestimated the relief of knowing she did not have to watch her back at this moment, that there was no need to fear someone would happen upon her unaware and use the occasion to insult, degrade or misuse her. A tension she had not fully known the extend of was washing away in the hands of a man who she had for so long seen as an unofficial protector. 

Sandor had imagined the Little Bird's body in contexts such as these more times than he could count, but feeling her against him was better than he had ever fantasized. The top of her head came up just under his chin, which was more than most women by far, and her supple young curves were firmer than he had thought. She pressed her body into his and it made him growl with desire. He had tried to give her a little time to find comfort, but they were past that now, his needs must be met. 

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her away from the wall, turning her backwards to walk towards the bed without losing contact with one another. Sansa allowed him to half carry her the few steps until the back of her legs pressed against the bed, only his arm holding her up so that she felt like a rag doll. She knew what came next and instinctively reach up to kiss him. 

Sandor did not waste time being surprised by this action but took over the kiss, pushing his way into her mouth and exploring it. Sansa's tongue tentatively responded as she wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders. She froze, however, when she felt Sandor's hands untucking her small clothes, causing them to join her dress on the floor and leaving her totally exposed. The kiss broke off and Sansa's arms stayed motionless hanging on the Hound's broad shoulders and she looked down at the floor and breathed heavily. 

One of Sandor's hands had been holding her hip and his finger now traced down the hip and inward to brush the skin right above where her red curls began. He found himself stalling, knowing exactly what should happen next, what he wanted, but torn as to how to go about it. She had chosen him, but he was not her choice. He should just get it done, he quickly decided. She was not there out of desire, it would be foolish to treat it as if it were that. It was kinder to be direct and gentle. To take what was offered and give what he had promised; trying the best he could not to hurt her. 

“Lie down.” They were the first words either of them had spoken since they arrived upstairs. Sansa did just that, suddenly very aware of the cold in the room as she separated from him and climbed into the bed behind her. 

As she did this, Sandor quickly removed what was left of his clothes and followed. She saw his body for only a moment before he was on top of her, completely eclipsing her body. Feeling his entirely naked form above hers was a very sudden realization that the moment was upon her. There was nothing between them now and the anxiety set back in. 

He guided her legs further apart and her feet flat against the mattress so he could properly situate himself on his knees. He took one hand and slowly ran it down her body before taking it to her inner thigh. He drew a few circles against her leg with his thumb before reaching up and running his finger over her slit. He found her nub and gave it a few little circles. Sansa's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, but he didn't take much notice, he was intent on his work. 

He carefully inserted one finger into her and then two. He glanced up as she gasped and bit her lip with a furrowed brow. She was a maiden yet, he had not been sure. No doubt she had been touched, pinched, kissed and mocked by Lannister tormentors, servants and guards but apparently she had protected herself well enough to get away. 

His hand left her body and went to his own, giving his member a few tugs before he led it to her entrance. “Relax.” The second sentence spoken since they had entered the room. The second command. He watched her take a deep breath, watch her visibly let go of the tension in her shoulders, legs and all over her body and just lay there waiting, knees up, legs open and head propped just enough. 

He slid in, buried to the hilt in one motion, and she did not make a sound. It was sweet release for him. She was so tight, sufficiently wet and oh so beautiful. He stayed still, buried in her and she reached out to hold onto his neck. 

She wanted a kiss, a gesture, something. It hurt, it truly hurt, but he was being gentle. He did not rush her or ask too much. It was so intimate but so detached. Why not make it feel romantic? She kissed him for the second time. 

It was a simple kiss, but she followed it with kisses on his unburnt cheek and down his neck. He pulled out slightly and pushed back in again. The kisses stopped for a moment, but then she planted another one near his pulse point. He pulled out again and buried himself again, and she left another kiss. He developed a rhythm and Sansa lay herself fully back down, letting him piston in and out as both of their breaths built. His head rested on her right shoulder and he grunted as he continued pumping in and out. 

She found it became comfortable and at certain moments she felt a spike of pleasure, but it quickly dissipated. She felt safe and the fear was gone, though some apprehension remained. She hummed through pursed lips as he found his release inside of her and she stroked his arm and then his hair after he rolled to the side of her and lay breathing heavily. 

She fell asleep quickly, curled against his body. The bed frame was too small to allow for much room, but when pressed together, back to front, they fit fine. He peered over her shoulder at her relaxed face as she slept. He remembered that she had not slept the night before and deflowering must surly be tiring as well. It may have been that this was the first sleep she had had in a while during which she did not fear waking to find herself in danger. He liked to think that.


	3. Let It Be

She heard the footsteps reach the top of the stairs just as she was raising her hand to knock at Sandor's door. She quickly tried to make it look like she had not been lingering there, but moving on to other doors, when she turned to see who was behind her. Jaimie Lannister was as beautiful as ever in his fine fabrics and leather coat. 

“What are you doing up here, Lady Stark?”, he asked with that characteristic drawl. 

“I...” She began, but fell silent and dropped her eyes to the floor as the door in front of her creaked open and the Hound filled its frame.

“Little Bird.” He said as he opened the door. 

Both of Ser Jaimie's eyebrows reached for his hairline as he looked at the Hound, who quickly noticed his presence in the hall and scowled. 

“Kingslayer.” He ground out. 

“Clegane.” The blond man returned. 

There was a moment of awkward silence which Sansa felt compelled to fill, no use lying. She turned to face the knight, though she stood in Sandor's shadow. “I share the Hound's bed.” She said clearly, with the tone of someone sharing an anecdote about the weather. Only her bright red face gave her away. “I hope this is not a problem, Ser.” She finished with a small curtsey, ever the lady. The Hound's scowl deepened.

Jaimie was baffled. “Do you?” He laughed but his face was confused and serious. “Whatever he's told you girl, its not true. He needn't listen to him.”   
Sandor couldn't contain a growl and his weight shifted forwards. 

“You misunderstand, Ser.” Sansa smiled politely standing between the two men, hands shaking imperceptibly. She did not know where this conversation would end. 

“Apparently.” He lounged against the wall now, arms crossed over his chest. “With your beauty and blood, my dear, I'm sure we could find you another bed to warm.” he said in a friendly, mocking tone, but his eye's stayed serious and alert. 

“Whose bed should she be in?” Sandor asked in his gruff, low voice, “Your's? Would you look after her?”

Some comprehension dawned on Jaime and he look at the Stark girl's face, her eyes now on the floor and her cheeks still red. 

“No, I don't suppose I would.” He responded. “Several members of my family would object to that no doubt.” 

There was another awkward pause. Sansa had taken her eyes off of the floor and smiled demurely, hands behind her back. The Hound continued to scowl. 

“Well,” Jaimie said as he pushed off of the wall. “I supposed this is rather perfect. No one should object to your bedding a traitor's daughter. I dare say not even the King would find it problematic.” 

“All the same, the Lady would prefer no one know.” Sandor's hand went to Sansa's shoulder as he said it. She looked as though she wanted to say something in response to this, but she did not. The Hound didn't see. 

“As you wish.” He gave a dazzling smile. “We Kingsguard live to serve, do we not?” 

He got no response as Sandor ushered Sansa into his room. She gave the Kingslayer a final nod and curtsey before turning away. 

“See to it she doesn't get with child.” Jaimie added as the Hound turned. He earned himself on more growl and a dirty look from the man before the door closed between them. He heard a second thump against the back of the door after it closed and could imagine what was going on on the other side. 

He shook his head and walked away. He had not worried about the Stark girl, but found himself amused and relieved that she had worked something out. Perhaps she was not so stupid as his sister said.


	4. Riding Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was unplanned, I only intended the first three, but I was inspired by your positive feedback. This is the end of this story now, however. I appreciate your thoughtful responses, analyses, and critiques. This was my first fanfic but I may be writing more in the future. Thank you and enjoy.

Relief flooded through Sansa as the door closed on the Kingslayer walking away. Sandor vented his displeasure with what had transpired by grabbing a hold of her and pushing her against the closed door. She didn't mind. 

His lips went immediately for her neck, giving her little love bites, hands gripping her waist tightly. He pulled at the laces of her dress urgently for a moment, before becoming frustrated and slapping an open palm against the door beside her head. 

Sansa cringed for a moment, in surprise at the noise and also the realization that the door was no doubt visibly shaking on the other side, yet she could not keep a small smile from her lips. 

“Fix it,” he demanded sourly, referring to her clothed state of being. 

“Oh course, my lord. But could we move away from the door?” He scanned her with his eyes a moment before backing away from her and walking the length of the room to pour a cup of wine as she got to work on the many ties that held her dress together. 

“I saw you in the practice yards this afternoon. You fought well.” Sansa made polite conversation as she worked on the bodice of her gown. 

The Hound turned to look at her, wine in hand, and replied, “Aye. They keep sending me these green lads, eager to prove themselves in front of His Grace's guards. Fucking dumb to think fighting me will leave them looking anything but incompetent.” He sat down on the edge of the bed with his drink and watched Sansa as she began to peel the gown off. 

She glanced up and smiled at him. “Foolish indeed.” 

She stepped out of the gown and shook it out. She still wore a light underdress of white cotton, as well as her stockings and boots. She looked around for a place to put the dress. The room was practically bare. His armor and weapons sat in the corner next to two saddle bags, any other personal items of his were with his horse's tack and saddle. Then there was the bed, the table with the wine skin and lamp, and the chair. 

Sandor inclined his head towards the chair and then took another slow drink of wine. Sansa lay the dress across the back and sat to remove her boots and stockings. 

“Come over here, Little Bird” he instructed when she had finished. She rose and walked over to him, standing between his open legs as he sat and looked up at her face. 

She placed her hands on his shoulders “I hope that seeing Ser Jaimie did not upset you overly much. I hope that I did not upset you.” 

He finally cracked a smile at her. “You worry too much about upsetting people. They've treated you no better for it.” 

“But I promised you the pleasure of my company. It is you I do not wish to upset.” 

The truth was that he worried for her, that he had come to feel responsible for her in some way and the Kingslayer had disrupted the balance. But he couldn't tell her that, no it was too messy. Better to keep it honest, keep it business. “Aye, your company you promised and that you've given. Tell all the truths and lies you like Little Bird, its not for me to say.” 

He continued on with a crooked smile,“Now climb into my lap girl, its time you learned how to ride a man.” 

Sansa gasped as she felt the Hound's hands wrap around the back of her thighs and pull her forward. From there he slid his hands upward, effectively hiking up the light shift she was wearing, finding she was bare underneath. His hands settled behind her back as she lifted one leg and then the other so she knelt over the large man. Her grip on his shoulders tightened as she awkwardly tried to position herself and then descend into his lap. 

Part of her dress and his breeches were still between their intimate body parts, but Sansa felt incredibly exposed nonetheless. She could feel him and was very aware of how he could feel her. She squirmed a bit to settle so she wouldn't topple off of him and felt his hardness rub against her pleasantly. 

“Good. You feel that now?” he pressed his face into her bosom for a deep breath. “Just imagine its your horse's saddle underneath you and move with it, back to front,” he coached her, hands still wrapped behind her back. 

Tentatively, Sansa tipped her pelvis forward and then rolled it back. She pushed herself up slightly to do it again, this time harder. “That's right Little Bird,” he urged her on, “grind into me, find where it feels good.” It did feel good. She could feel an ache building in her and when she rubbed against him is soothed it some but then lit a deeper burn when she released the pressure. 

She found her throat opening towards him, her head releasing back leaving her neck exposed to his lips as she leaned backwards to put more pressure into her strokes. Her voice also found occupation releasing breathy moans with each exhale until she heard herself and bit her lower lip. 

Sandor chuckled, his sour mood now completely forgotten as the woman in his lap began to find pleasure against his body. Clearly she had come into her stride and was ready for the next step. He brought one arm more firmly around her and used the other to support them both against the bed as he shifted them deeper into the mattress and pivoted to make room for his legs inside the bed frame. 

He supported himself on both elbows as they readjusted and Sansa's focus snapped back to her surroundings. It was after he was lying down that Sandor realized that he should have taken care of his pants before getting here. Sansa sat atop him flustered, unsure of what to do now. 

“Perhaps we had best get ourselves undressed” the redhead suggested politely, also aware of their predicament. Sandor grunted in response. Sansa moved off of him to the inside of the bed while Sandor wrestled his pants off. He leaned back on his elbows once his clothing was removed and looked at the young woman sitting on her heels beside him. 

“You gunna take that off girl, or do I have to help you?” he asked with undisguised lust. Sansa could see his manhood very clearly now, she could see his whole body much better than she had seen him the previous night. She was also aware that his view of her body would be much less impeded and so she blushed as she reached for the hem of her slip. As she pulled it above her head the Hound let out a low whistle. Sansa believed he meant to tease her, but when she looked at his face she saw that that was not the case. He face was all seriousness as he studied her kneeling body. She held the garment in front of her, suddenly very shy, but he would have none of it. 

“No point in that” he insisted, “and whats more you know it.” Sansa set the shift down on the bed next to her and watched his face. He was difficult to read. The burnt side of his face was closest to the lamp and so well illuminated. His face was all scars and shadows and deeply hungry eyes. There was no redeeming quality about it; no visible kindness in his expression or softness in his brow. He was all hard leather and corse hair. 

He took his time looking her over. 

“Seven Hells” he said, pushing himself up to a seated position. “You make a man wish he were chivalrous.” Sansa smiled a bit, at the situation as much as at his comment, and sat up on her knees, bringing her face closer to Sandor's. She decided there was no reason to be self conscious, she knew how beautiful she was, people were forever telling her, and very few of them had reason to try to flatter her anymore. It was nice to have it from him though, the closest thing to a compliment he would give her. 

She leaned into him for a kiss; she liked the kisses best. She could feel the burnt corner of his lip, but she had long since learned that faces said little about people. But this kiss was different than the night before. It was rough and warm and wet and Sansa had to match him, giving pressure back, to keep from being knocked over. She grabbed onto him, to deepen the kiss as much as to keep her balance. 

“Get on top” he growled, pulling away for her. His hand was on the back of her head now and his fingers roamed and tugged at her hair as she moved to hover over him. 

Their faces were still so close and both were breathing heavily now. “My Lord... I need...” Sansa spoke uncertainly between breaths. 

“I know, I'll guide you through it.” Sandor answered impatiently as he ground up against her. “Take a hold of me.” He commanded. 

Sansa reached between her legs to where his manhood waited for her. She glanced up at his face as she wrapped her hand around it, but his eyes stayed on her hand. “Rub up and down now Little Bird. Yes, that's right.” His eyes closed as her small hand explored his shaft. He lay himself down on the bed and closed his eyes, enjoying the knowledge that Sansa Stark had his cock in her hand almost as much as the actual pleasure of it. Thank the Gods her father was dead. 

“That's enough of that now Little Bird” he ground out. “Guide me to your entrance.” Sansa pursed her lips as she positioned them both and Sandor's large hands went to her hips to help guide her next motion. She could not keep the worried and pained look from her face as she lowered herself onto him and let out shaky sigh once he was buried to the hilt. 

She had felt sore all day from the previous night and she had hoped this would not hurt so much, but she had been mistaken. Sandor traced small circles on her hip bones while Sansa adjusted to his size. 

“Just as before.” he told her softly. After a few moments Sansa rolled her hips experimentally. There was deep pleasure accompanying the pain, enough to outweigh it. She did it again. 

“That's right.” He grunted out, eyes closing for a long moment. 

Sansa leaned forward and put one hand on Sandor's shoulder and the other on the bed beside him. As she pulled away from him and then sunk back she let out a high moan and her eyes closed as well. 

She built up more speed, riding him, as he had described it. Her moans became breathier while his turned into grunts. As her face softened and opened up, his grew more harsh and concentrated. When the Hound bent his knees, putting his feet flat against the mattress, he outright growled at the new sensation and Sansa let out a surprised and happy gasp. 

When his hand found its way between her legs and began circling her nub, the rhythm of her motion was interrupted and her mouth opened in a silent scream of pleasure. Her lips went to his jaw bone and she gave him several quick kisses before pulling away to focus on breathing. 

His lips eventually made their way to her breasts and he began sucking at one nipple and then the other. It was too much for Sansa and the spring that had been coiling inside of her released. She felt as though she lost control of every muscle in her body for a moment as she felt her insides contract and her mind go numb with pure bliss. 

Feeling her finish pushed Sandor over the edge. He felt her muscles contract around him and he bucked into her wildly as he reached the top. He kept moving as he felt her body go limp and prolonged her soft moans a few moments longer. 

Finally they both came to rest. Sansa's chest was flush against Sandor's and he could feel her hot breath against the ruined skin that had been his ear. After a minute their breathing began to even out and Sandor was surprised to hear the Little Bird laugh softly next to his head. A warmth spread through him unlike the one he had just experienced. He couldn't suppress a little chuckle of his own though his face quickly returned to a neutral expression, his safe place. 

“There you have it, Little Bird.” He spoke in his soft, rasping voice. “And well done.” 

He shifted himself slightly, giving her the impetus to roll 90 degrees to the side. She made a little “oh” sound as he slid out of her and she felt a trail of his seed along her leg. She rested on her side, still pressed against him, with one arm draped over his body and his arm serving as her pillow. 

He pulled his arm out from under her and sat up to pull the blanket at the foot of the bed over their bodies. As he lay back down he found Sansa seamlessly lifting her head and shoulders so that he could slip his arm back under her and she pressed back into his body as they had been. 

“Thank you, my Lord,” she said softly as her eyes drifted shut. He did not waste time wondering what exactly she was thanking him for. Instead he closed his eyes as well. They had both earned their sleep.


End file.
